


Soldier, Lizard, Frog

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Breakfast, Consensual Non-Consent, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oh and Also, POV Michael (Good Omens), Penis In Vagina Sex, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Sex In A Graveyard, Smoking, Switching, Tea, instant coffee as a breakfast food, mealworms as an oatmeal topping, you know how sometimes you cope with decision fatigue by writing porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Ligur wrapped Michael's hand more tightly around the mug. “Drink your tea, soldier.”This quiet instruction abruptly clicked a handful of loose pieces into place in Michael’s head, illuminating a new idea. She licked sleep-numb lips. “You’re trying to tellmewhat to do?”Ligur hesitated. Michael felt the soft pad of his thumb under her chin, urging her to look at him, but she kept her eyes stubbornly closed. “Only if you want me to,” he said.Whether she's running meetings in Heaven or disciplining her pet demons in the bedroom, Michael has always been the one in charge. But she's starting to think that sometimes even an archangel needs to relinquish control.
Relationships: Hastur/Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	Soldier, Lizard, Frog

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to seekwill for the encouraging beta read on a fic I was very nervous about.
> 
> I also have to thank MathConcepts for the marvelous [BackChannels](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420780) series, which totally sold me on this ship.
> 
> I didn’t want to dwell on what happened to Ligur, so you can decide if Adam brought him back or if this is canon-divergent and he never got melted. In any case, he’s fine now and he’s going to stay fine. This is a happy fic. Well, happy and filthy.

“Well, don’t you two make a pretty picture.” Michael smiled as she fastened the last button on her jacket. Across the office, next to the rusty desk with its rotary phone and mildewy paperwork, knelt her two pet demons. Each had a soft white cushion under his knees. The floors in Hell were hard and damp, and Michael liked to take care of her things.

There was a large wet spot on Hastur’s cushion, only because his cock leaked so dreadfully when he was aroused. Not because he’d been allowed to come yet, Michael had made sure of that. The spot grew as he watched Michael cross the room. She was fully dressed, her hair once more immaculately styled, after taking her pleasure from the demons for the last two hours.

Ignoring Hastur and his dripping cock for the moment, she came to stand in front of Ligur. She drank in the desperate orange of his eyes, the sheen of sweat all over his beautiful nude body. His hands were tied behind his back, emphasizing his broad chest and shoulders. Michael wanted to bite into every firm curve of muscle. Again.

She trailed one finger from his forehead to his chin and down to the hollow of his throat. The lace of her cuff brushed deliberately (everything Michael did was deliberate) against a nipple that was already swollen and sore from her teasing. Ligur groaned, his eyes screwed shut in tormented bliss.

Michael had reached her first orgasm today while riding Ligur flat on his back. He’d kept perfectly still, just as she’d told him to, despite how she’d pinched and squeezed his chest, drawing out those helpless moans that she loved so much.

Now she let the lace brush his other nipple, and savored the twitch of his cock, the heaving gasp of his breath. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, then licked the sweat daintily off her lips. “Such a good pet,” she murmured.

A muffled growl drew her attention to the left. Hastur’s furious black eyes seemed to be brimming with every curse his mouth couldn’t voice, stuffed as it was with a lace-trimmed gag. Michael gave him a pretty little frown, because that was what he wanted, even as her eyes moved appreciatively over the lines and angles of his naked body.

It always felt like a triumph to get Hastur undressed. He clung to the protection of his clothes, fearing vulnerability more than Ligur did, yet craving it just as much. Sometimes Michael would strip him with a snap of her fingers, so she could enjoy his blush and sudden erection. Hastur would glare at his own cock, as if it had betrayed him by enjoying the humiliation. Other times Ligur would take Hastur’s clothes off, slow and sure, peeling him bare with hands that had already known their way around Hastur’s body before Noah built the Ark.

But tonight Michael had told Hastur to undress himself while she fucked Ligur. He’d muttered and fussed, but he’d done it, no doubt enjoying the distraction of a good show. When she had climbed off Ligur with a lingering kiss and left him trembling on the edge, Hastur had grunted, “My turn.”

Over the years he had perfected this grunt, raising the inflection just enough that it _could_ be a question, so he wouldn’t get in trouble with Michael for making demands.

“Yes, pet,” she’d told him indulgently. “On your back.” And then she’d sat astride his face, almost laughing at the irritation in his eyes. Hastur’s tongue was slightly more flexible and a bit stickier than a human tongue, and he liked to make use of it, but he also liked to pretend to be selfish. As if he wasn’t half-starved for a taste of Michael, as if he wouldn’t eat her out for hours if she asked. For days, if that’s what she wanted.

Michael had come twice more like that, one hand buried in Hastur’s mess of dirty blond hair (he liked it when she pulled) and the other gripping Ligur’s hand, their fingers entwined. Ligur had crept over to suck Hastur’s cock—without Michael telling him to, which was rather bold. Then again, she hadn’t told him not to, and she found it endearing when her pets took initiative. It had been nice to listen to the messy slurps and feel Hastur quiver between her thighs as he tried to concentrate. It had been lovely to squeeze Ligur’s hand when she climaxed, his cool skin a grounding contact amidst the crash and burn of her release.

But then she’d had to get strict, when she stood up and saw Ligur still working intently, one hand around the base of Hastur’s cock and sucking like he fully intended to finish the job. “Stop that,” Michael had admonished.

Ligur had pulled off at once, chagrined, to Hastur’s groan of frustration. “Don’t stop!”

“Oh, are _you_ giving orders now?” Michael had inquired coolly.

“Maybe I should try, can’t be any more sadistic than you, fucking wank—” So she’d gagged him, before binding both demons’ wrists behind their backs. Hastur hadn’t stopped glaring at her since, which she’d found quite amusing.

Now Michael tapped the damp cloth between his teeth. “You know the consequences for mouthing off, _ma grenouille_. We’ve done this before. I can only assume that you _wanted_ to be gagged. And tied. And forced to wait on your knees until your pleasure suits my purpose.” She stroked a greasy shock of hair back from his face, watching his cock jump and dribble. “And you know I always give you what you want. I am an angel of mercy, after all.”

She heard a choked noise from behind her, and turned back to Ligur with one eyebrow raised. “Did you have something to say, pet?”

Sweat trickled down the center of his chest. He shook his head. Michael blew him a kiss.

Then her eyes fell on the wall clock that was neither operational nor accurate. “Oh! How the time does fly when we’re enjoying each other’s company like this. I’m afraid I have to get back to Heaven for a meeting.”

Ligur licked his lips. “Please,” he whimpered.

Michael stood between the two demons, one hand under each chin, and made a show of considering. “I have time for one of you to orgasm,” she said at last. “You may decide which. Quickly now.” She snapped her fingers, and Hastur’s gag fell to the floor.

He spat and worked his jaw, then said at the exact same time as Ligur, each of them jerking his head toward the other, “Give it to _him_.”

“Oh you darlings,” breathed Michael, her delight in the answer in no way diminished by her expectation of it. Hastur and Ligur, both shaking with pent-up desire, gazed at each other with a stony kind of devotion, and Michael’s adamantine heart gave a little squeeze in response.

She pulled the desk chair closer and sat down primly, legs crossed. “One orgasm. Go ahead. Let’s see who gets it.”

Hastur’s eyes flicked from Ligur’s face to his straining cock, and he declared in a raspy voice, “I’m going to suck you off.” But before he could dive forward to complete the deed (and Michael had seen him take Ligur to the root before with his hands bound, so she knew that he could) Ligur lunged across the distance between them and kissed Hastur. Their mouths locked and their bodies pressed urgently together.

It didn’t take long after that. Michael watched, entranced. Ligur tilted his head to get his tongue in Hastur’s mouth, while Hastur shifted his thighs and hips to align their cocks—Ligur’s long and dark and beautifully curved, Hastur’s shorter and thicker with pale skin stretched over blue veins. Hastur’s precome slicked them both as they moved together, their kisses interspersed with soft grunts and cries that Michael relished like fine wine.

They were lovely like this, she thought, each seeking only to please his lover but helplessly pleasing himself at the same time. She found Hastur and Ligur attractive in their own ways, but it was the two of them together, the unspeakable and unbreakable bond between them, that had drawn her into their gravity well, locked her into their eternal orbit.

They came at the same time, Hastur with a guttural groan and Ligur on a long sigh, burying his face in Hastur’s neck while tremors shook them book. Hastur pressed his cheek to the top of Ligur’s head and blinked slowly at Michael. “One orgasm,” he croaked. “For the two of us.”

Michael smiled softly. She snapped, and the ties slid off their wrists. “Come here, pets.”

Hastur collapsed against the archangel’s legs, his head on her knee and one arm looped around her ankles. He could be so possessive in his submission, Michael thought fondly. Meanwhile, Ligur buried his face in her lap. “Don’t go,” he mumbled into her thigh. “You don’t really have to, do you?”

“Of course not.” She stroked his broad back, fingertips skating on sweat-slick skin. “That was only part of the game. I wouldn’t leave you like this.”

They were ruining her good clothes, and Michael didn’t care in the slightest. She liked this part as much as she liked all the rest of it. She reached over to the desk and lifted a pitcher of ice water with lemon slices, pouring to fill two cups. “Here, sticky fingers,” she said to Ligur, handing him one. Then she coaxed Hastur’s head up. “You too, _ma grenouille_. Drink.”

Hastur gave her a crooked smile, his defiance gone, his expression unguarded. Michael watched the two of them drink, throats bobbing, their fingers entwined at her feet. She felt the slack relaxation in their bodies, draped against her. They looked utterly wrung out, and extremely well cared for.

Ligur set down his cup to gaze at Michael, eyes bright yellow-green. “You’re good to us, soldier.”

“Bloody vicious is what she is,” muttered Hastur, which meant the same thing. He rested his head on her knee again, closing his eyes.

“We’d do anything for you,” Ligur said quietly.

“I know.” Michael allowed her own eyes to drift shut, drawing out the moment as much as she could. She could stay long enough to care for her pets, to clean them up and unfold the bed from the wall, to fluff the pillows and shake out the sheets. She could make sure they were settled, with enough extra blankets for Ligur, who ran colder than Hastur for no apparent reason. (“Shouldn’t you both be cold-blooded?” Michael had asked, in the early days of their relationship. “It’s ineffable,” Ligur had responded, deadpan, making Hastur shriek with sudden laughter.)

But once they were asleep, Michael would have to go. There was always too much to do in Heaven. Her thoughts jumped ahead, reminding her that the Seraphim choir update was behind schedule, that a territorial dispute between Principalities had escalated into her jurisdiction, that Uriel had put in a vacation request and Michael would have to reassign her workload.

These sessions with Hastur and Ligur were always a welcome break from the pressures of work. When it came to stress relief, she’d found there was nothing quite like tying up a demon and edging him until he begged.

But as Michael kissed Ligur’s temple and smoothed the sheet over Hastur’s shoulder, she found herself wondering for the first time if the stress relief was just as good for them.

Or maybe even better.

*

As Prince of the Heavenly Host, Michael’s duties had hardly been reduced by the fizzle of Armageddon. Rather the opposite—especially now that Gabriel was raising some weird child with Beelzebub on Earth, and barely spent any time in Heaven. Michael had been left in charge of pretty much everything.

Normally her focus at work was flawless, but after her last visit to Hell, she found her thoughts occasionally drifting.

As she reviewed the vacation calendar and distributed Uriel’s tasks among half a dozen lesser angels, Michael reflected that she always seemed to be giving orders, and remembered Hastur snapping, “Maybe I should try it.” When she wrestled an entire choir back into perfect harmony, and the only acknowledgement of her hard work was a request for similar management from another choir, she thought of Ligur saying, “We’d do anything for you.” And later, after closing out a high-level meeting with individual check-ins to make sure that each angel was resting and hydrating, as well as staying on target with quarterly goals, Michael sat down with her own projects and realized that no one ever checked in with her.

These scattered thoughts didn’t coalesce into a clear desire until nearly a month later, when Michael woke up in the nondescript flat her two demons kept in Brighton. Michael rarely slept, preferring on the nights she spent with Hastur and Ligur to keep watch over them. She would lie awake in bed to share her radiant heat, or sit up with wings outspread, or stand at the window watching the stars wheel across the sky. She did not need books or television to occupy her mind through the quiet hours. She was a soldier, and she knew how to stand her post.

Still, every so often Michael would feel an urge to sleep, and this had been one of those nights. And when she did sleep, she slept deeply. She woke up feeling sluggish and cross, with a cool hand on her shoulder and a hot mug against her palm.

Michael lifted her head without opening her eyes. “Wuddafug?”

Ligur—of course it was Ligur—chuckled and wrapped her hand more tightly around the mug. “Drink your tea, soldier.”

This quiet instruction abruptly clicked a handful of loose pieces into place in Michael’s head, illuminating a new idea. She licked sleep-numb lips. “You’re trying to tell me what to do?”

Ligur hesitated. Michael felt the soft pad of his thumb under her chin, urging her to look at him, but she kept her eyes stubbornly closed. “Only if you want me to,” he said.

Michael gripped the mug. Her mind began to click and whir with possibilities. But she didn’t say anything aloud, and she felt the mattress shift as Ligur stood up. “Hastur’s cooking,” he said. “You might want to come out before he puts flies in everything.”

Michael nodded and waved him away, breathing in the herbal steam from the mug. Lemongrass and peppermint, with a touch of honey. After half the tea scalded down her throat, she managed to crack open her eyes and stumble from the bedroom out to the kitchen.

“Look who decided to grace us with her waking presence.” Hastur stood at the stovetop in all his regular clothes, plus a yellow and green checked apron.

“Fugoff,” growled Michael.

Ligur laughed at them both from where he stood by the open window, wearing only shorts and smoking a cigarette. Michael leaned on the wall next to him. “Give me that.”

Ligur eyed her curiously. “You don’t smoke.”

“She does sometimes, middle of the night,” commented Hastur.

“Yeah? Is that why I wake up freezing my arse off, because you two got up to have a smoke without me? Nice.”

“I said give it, sticky fingers.” Michael plucked the cigarette from said fingers and took a deep drag. The taste was bitter, stinging her eyes and nose.

“Hey,” said Ligur. “You okay?”

She passed it back. “I want to ask you both for something.”

“What is it?” Hastur slapped a plate down on the breakfast table, tempting Michael to her seat. The french toast was nearly perfect, three golden-brown slices topped with a pile of fresh berries, drizzled with cream and dusted with sugar. The plate held only one stray cricket leg.

Michael cleared her throat pointedly. Ligur swiped the fragment of insect and dropped it into his oatmeal to join the walnuts and mealworms.

 _How good they are to me,_ she thought. _I don’t know if they can do this. But I know I can ask._ “You’re such lovely pets,” she began, then took a deep breath. “I thought—I want—that is, we could—”

For Heaven’s sake, Michael never stumbled over her words. And the demons knew it. They exchanged looks of concern across the table. Michael swallowed. She had to get this out before she worried them too much. “Would you like to try switching?”

There, she said it. No big deal. She took a decisive bite of a strawberry.

“Switching what?” Hastur leaned against the counter, chewing a mouthful of instant coffee. “You want to hit us with switches?”

“Not what she means.” Ligur shook his head. “Switching, like, she’d be our pet for a change. That right?”

“Something like that. Yes. I think.” Shit, why did she sound so unsure? Michael was practically defined by certainty. She picked up a knife to slice her toast. “Just once, to try it. Not right away or anything. We can talk about it. I thought it might be fun. It’s all right if you don’t—”

“Michael.” Ligur’s hand covered hers, stilling it. She realized that she had cut through the plate and into the table. “Just for fun? Is that all?”

“No.” Michael let go of the knife, let go of the breath she was holding, and wondered what it would feel like to let go of everything else. “I think I need it.”

*

They kept talking about it. Sometimes the conversations were awkward, and sometimes the whole idea seemed so ridiculous that one or more of them couldn’t keep from laughing. But between the three of them, they began to figure out what Michael needed.

Unfortunately, the first few times they played it out, the scene broke down almost at once.

First they tried it in the flat, in the bedroom, after quarreling for fifteen minutes over whether to leave the window open. (It was rubbish collection day and Hastur liked the smell, but Michael thought the noise would be too distracting.) Michael sat on the edge of the bed, and Ligur stood in front of her with his arms folded.

“Take your shirt off,” he said.

So Michael ripped through the twine around her wrists, and began to unbutton her blouse.

“No, shit, don’t do that!” he exclaimed. “I learned how to tie knots and everything.”

“Well, then how did you expect me to take my shirt off?” asked Michael, very reasonably, she thought. “You have to plan these things out, you know. Think ahead to how you’re going to get me naked. Maybe you could—”

“And there she goes running the show again,” muttered Ligur.

“I don’t mind her running the show,” said Hastur, who’d been lying on the bed. He rolled up to lick the side of Michael’s neck. She hummed in appreciation, holding out her arms to Ligur. He looked frustrated, and clearly needed a hug.

“Neither do I, but the point was—oh, sod this.” He sank to his knees and buried his face in Michael’s chest, and the rest of the evening went as it usually did.

Then they tried it in Hastur’s office in Hell, with Michael backed against the desk and Hastur looming over her. He was good at looming, she had to admit. “Hold still,” he said. “I’m going to strip you.” It was something she’d often said to him, reveling in rush of heat to his cheeks, the clench of his trembling fists. But Michael, hearing it from Hastur, coughed over a laugh.

“What?” he demanded.

“It’s just—your hair is doing that thing. I can’t take you seriously like this. Ligur, come and look at his hair.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Hastur threw up his hands in disgust. “You have a go at it, Ligur.”

Hastur stomped off with his frizzy hair to sulk in a corner, while Ligur obligingly stepped in. He slid his hands under Michael’s shirt and tugged it over her head. “So pretty,” he murmured, unhooking her bra as he kissed along her collarbone. “Love how holy you taste.” He cupped one breast so he could lift the nipple to his lips and circle it with that lovely long tongue.

Michael sighed in pleasure and hooked her legs around his waist. She slid her fingers to the back of his neck to guide his mouth where she wanted it, and eventually Hastur pulled out of his funk to join them. It was all very nice. But it wasn’t what they’d been aiming for.

“I think we ought to try it somewhere else. Somewhere new.” Hastur voiced this suggestion at an outdoor cafe the next week. He was chewing a mouthful of dry instant coffee, which the waiter had been surprised to find on the menu, and absently rubbing Michael’s feet, which were on his lap.

She nodded, sipping her anise matcha blend. “And I think you can’t just tell me what to do. You have to make me do it.”

Ligur stared at her. “When has anyone on Earth, in Heaven or Hell ever been able to _make_ you do anything?”

“That,” said Michael, “is precisely the point.”

*

And so, several weeks later, Michael found herself wandering a graveyard in the middle of the night. It was “a proper spooky graveyard” as Hastur had said, with prickly tangles of weeds up to her waist, headstones worn down to looming shadows, broken statuary, and plenty of dead trees.

 _It’s a proper spooky night, too_ , Michael thought with a smile. Thick clouds blocked the moon and stars, while tendrils of fog crept through the branches. They’d planned to do this on the previous night, but the weather had been clear, so Ligur had insisted on waiting. How thorough her dear pets had been.

But she mustn’t think of them as her pets tonight. They were unknown demons, dangerous and unpredictable. Their motives would be vile, their actions reprehensible. Michael’s fingers flexed automatically in preparation to smite.

She shook her hands to loosen them. No smiting.

Damn, this was going to be tricky.

She kept walking, picking her way through the brambles. She wondered if she was making enough noise for them to hear her, then she wondered if they were running late. Hell was the sort of place where something always came up at the last minute. Perhaps she ought to call—

“Well, well, what’s this?” Suddenly there was an arm locked around Michael’s waist and a growl in her ear. “A graveyard angel who’s not a statue?”

Michael recognized the warmth of Hastur’s body behind hers, the damp brush of his lips against her neck. _You don’t know him,_ she reminded herself. _And he dared to touch you._

She tore free and whirled to face him. “I am the Archangel Michael,” she said. “And the only reason you’re not a smoking crater is that I think you’re the demon I came here to meet.”

In reality, Michael had met Hastur and Ligur for the first time at St. James’ Park in broad daylight, after years of careful information exchanges, building rapport from a distance. But for this scene, they were pretending that Michael had proposed a meeting on Earth in her first message.

“Oh, I’m the one you’re looking for, all right,” sneered Hastur. “I’m Hastur, Duke of Hell. And the only reason _you’re_ not flat on your back with your legs spread is that I like to play a bit first.”

He moved in close, although he didn’t touch her again. The lightless black of his eyes held a cold and calculated intent.

Michael stood her ground. “I’m not here to play. If you aren’t serious about sharing information, then I’ll simply—”

“Run.” Hastur lifted one hand between their faces. Flames began to lick around his fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“You should run.” His gaze raked down Michael’s body, the raw lust making her skin tingle. It had taken years for Hastur to admit that he found her attractive, but apparently this version of the demon had no qualms about expressing his desire. “Stretch those lovely legs, before they’re wrapped around my waist.”

“How dare—”

“Or over my shoulders. I’m flexible. Hope you are, too.” A terrible grin cracked Hastur’s face. His lips and teeth glistened in the firelight. “Suppose you might be able to get to the consecrated ground by the church before I catch you. But you won’t get anywhere if you don’t start running.”

Michael took a step backward. She couldn’t possibly be frightened of Hastur, who croaked when he snored and blushed like a virgin every time she undressed him. But this tall demon, this Duke of Hell with his cruel smile and his hard eyes, reflecting the Hellfire at his fingertips? She could see her way toward at least acting afraid of him.

“Oh, and I did say _run_ ,” he told her. “Better not think of spreading those pretty wings. You won’t like what happens if you try to fly away.”

Michael suspected that this was because the demons couldn’t catch her in the air, and so the scene would end. Hastur was right; she wouldn’t like that. Her heart was already clattering against her rib cage and a hot tension had coiled low in her belly. She felt half-drunk on the novelty of not knowing what was going to happen next.

So she turned and ran.

An overgrown graveyard was not much of a running track, but Michael was supernaturally swift and agile. She took her training regimen seriously, whether or not her pets could find the time to join her. (Usually Hastur offered commentary from the sidelines while Ligur sparred. Sooner or later, Ligur always lost, possibly because he liked Michael’s sword against his throat too much.)

Michael raced through the weeds, ignoring the thistles that tore at her clothes and skin, finding footholds among sunken gravestones. She didn’t hear Hastur behind her. For some reason that made her run faster.

The graveyard itself had long since lost any consecration it ever had, but the churchyard up ahead still held the promise of blessed protection. Michael was close enough to catch a whiff of sanctity when a wire caught her ankle and she went down hard.

A dark shape appeared over her. She saw Ligur’s familiar features outlined in the glow of the cigarette between his lips. For half a second she could only remember that there was a threat behind her, which meant she had to protect Ligur. She began scrambling to her feet.

Then Ligur’s boot landed on her hand, pressing it into the dirt. Michael’s brain caught up with her, and she realized that he had tripped her. _Ligur_ had tripped her. Ligur who chewed with his mouth open, whose feet were like icicles in bed, who harbored a secret fondness for classical piano concertos.

“Would you look at that,” he said, his boot grinding down until Michael felt the shape of every blade of grass imprinted on her palm. “Caught us an angel.”

“Not just any angel.” Hastur had joined them noiselessly, talented lurker than he was. “The Archangel Michael, she says.”

Irritated by his mocking tone, Michael moved to get her legs underneath her, but Hastur stepped forward onto her thigh, the sole of his shoe digging into solid muscle. “You can stay down, wankwings. Catch your breath after that nice run.”

Michael sucked in a deep breath and discovered that she was furious. Their feet on her body hurt, but that was an afterthought. Demons did not step on Michael. Michael stepped on demons. “You malformed goblins,” she spat, and surged up from the ground, careless of the skin she left under Ligur’s boot and the bruise blooming where Hastur had stood on her leg.

She swung one fist into Ligur’s jaw, with just enough presence of mind to hold back from really hurting him. Hastur grunted as her knee went into his stomach. But instead of retreating, the demons crowded closer, boxing her in.

“Vermin,” she snarled, her voice rising. “Shit-licking little imps!”

Hastur grappled both of Michael’s arms behind her and Ligur took her head in his hands. He’d lost his cigarette in the brief melee, but he’d kept a cloud of smoke to blow in her face. When she coughed, he gripped her jaw tighter and leaned in. His eyes were blood-red.

“Shut up.” His thumb hooked into the corner of her mouth. “If you keep yelling, humans might hear you. Might even come running to see what the fuss is. What do you think me and Hastur are gonna do to any humans that interrupt our fun?”

Ligur’s fingers were holding her tongue down now, a bitter invasion. She couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to, but she knew the answer. These demons would hurt and kill at the slightest provocation, or with no provocation at all. She tried to push Ligur away, but found she couldn’t move her arms. Hastur had folded them up over her head and was now wrapping her forearms tightly together.

There was nothing special about the cloth or the knots. If Michael released all her wrath as an angel of the Lord, she’d break free in an instant. Instead, she sank into the binding, relieved. She no longer had to decide how much to pull her punches, because now she couldn’t punch.

She couldn’t do much with the rest of her body, either, with the two demons trapping her between them, their intentions difficult to miss. Hastur’s cock dug into her from behind, leaking enough that she could feel the wetness spreading down her lower back. Ligur rocked against her hips, his erection nudging insistently at Michael’s cunt—which wasn’t exactly dry.

In fact, Michael’s body was expressing all kinds of interest in this scenario. Even with Ligur prying her mouth open and Hastur hooking her bound arms around his neck, she couldn’t help but plan. She hadn’t been fucked by both of them at once for a while. She could have Hastur open her up first, and then—

“Bugger, we’ve gone and tied her before getting her clothes off,” said Ligur, interrupting her thoughts. But his tone was sneering rather than sheepish. “Wonder what we should do about that.”

“The weeds’ve done half the job already.” Hastur slid one hand through a rip in Michael’s shirt, tearing it wider.

Ligur grasped her collar with his free hand. “Shall I finish it off?”

“Go on,” said Hastur.

Ligur tore Michael’s shirt down the front. Then he took his other hand away from her mouth and ripped each sleeve right up to the binding, shredding the fabric and leaving Michael topless.

“Don’t touch me,” snapped Michael, now that she could talk again.

“Bit late for that, wankwings.” Ligur yanked her slacks open and shoved them down to mid-thigh, along with her pants. Michael felt the lace tear beneath his fingers, a stark reminder that this wasn’t the Ligur she knew. Her Ligur had always been as careful and methodical in private encounters as he was in professional temptations.

“You’ll regret that,” she told him archly, to see how he’d react. Usually a statement like that would make her pets beg and whimper.

Ligur just laughed at her. Hastur rutted harder against her arse. “This bloody angel still thinks she’s in charge.”

“How cute.” Ligur pinched one of her nipples, harder than he ever had before. Michael gasped, half in surprise and half in pain. When he gave her other nipple the same treatment, she almost voiced a moan, swallowing it down just in time. She tried to twist away, to squeeze out from between them, but Hastur’s bony fingers held her hips in place while Ligur pushed his hand between her thighs.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He dragged two fingers easily through her slick folds, then shoved them deep inside her. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This is why you sent that message. Couldn’t say it straight out, but your cunt is saying it for you.”

“No,” Michael bit out. “You piece of shit. I don’t want this.”

Hastur pressed his nose to the side of Michael’s neck, just under her ear, and breathed deeply. “No point in lying to us, wankwings, we can smell it.” He sucked on the skin, hard enough to bruise, then asked, “You want to use her mouth, Ligur?”

“Not yet. She’s still got too much bite.” Ligur took her nipple in the fingers of his left hand and her clit in his right, and twisted both at the same time. It was all Michael could do not to shriek aloud. “Better break her in first.”

“Right then,” said Hastur, unhooking Michael’s arms from his neck and giving her a push toward a waist-high slab of stone. “Over the tomb there.”

Michael hesitated, arms still crossed and bound over her head, her only remaining clothes bunched around her knees, the graveyard chill raising goosebumps on her skin. She could humor them. She could stumble forward and bend over the cold stone, because her body was screaming for a good fuck and Hastur definitely was one.

But that was a decision, and Michael wanted to stop making decisions. She wanted to stop thinking entirely. So she dug in her heels and said as coldly as possible (which was just a few degrees shy of absolute zero), “If you think I’m going to bend over for a pitiful croaking frog like you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Oh, I _know_ you’re going to bend over for me.” Hastur shoved her forward and slammed her down on the stone, ripping the rest of her clothes off as he forced her legs apart. Michael had time to draw a single breath, and then his cock was buried inside her, the coarse fabric of his trousers chafing the back of her thighs.

“Fuck you!” Michael shouted, because she _could_ shout, and she wanted to get to a point where she couldn’t even do that. She tried to arch up, to twist away. Ligur held her down with heavy hands, one between her shoulder blades and the other on the back of her head. Stone dug into her cheek and crushed her breasts as Hastur fucked her hard and fast, scraping her legs and belly against the rough edges of the tomb.

Pain had never held much interest for Michael, either as something to avoid or seek out. She was used to it as a part of training, as a result of pushing herself, so the exact amount and location of pain she experienced had always been under her control.

This pain was extremely interesting, as it was outside of her control. The abrasions from the stone, Ligur’s fist tightening in her hair and Hastur’s nails digging into her hips—all these sensations demanded Michael’s attention, because she wasn’t in charge of them. They hurt. Her eyes prickled unexpectedly. When Hastur slammed in for the last time and spilled inside her with a groan, her tears spilled out onto the tomb.

Then Hastur pulled out and stepped away. She heard Ligur drawl, “I’ll have a go,” and his hands shifted, flipping her onto her back with her legs hanging off the edge of the tomb. Her arms banged the stone above her head, joints throbbing, one elbow skinned. She blinked through her tears and caught sight of Hastur off to one side, lighting a cigarette.

“Fuck, she’s crying,” said Ligur, freezing between her thighs with one hand in his trousers.

Michael swallowed and tried to cough up some words. Of course, they’d never seen her cry. It would be alarming for them. She should check in, make sure they’re okay, reassure them—

“Is that all it took?” Hastur leaned closer, blowing smoke as he rubbed one dirty finger over her wet cheek. “Thought an archangel would be tougher than that. Oh, you’re going to be _sobbing_ by the time we’re through with you, love.”

Hastur had never called Michael _love_ before, had never to her knowledge even used that endearment for Ligur. To hear him speak it now sounded so wrong it made her head spin and brought a new rush of tears. She gathered all the saliva she could and spat at Hastur, but it fell short. He gave an ugly laugh. “She’s still got some fight left. See if you can fix that, Ligur.”

Ligur hiked her thighs up around his waist, his cockhead teasing into the wet mess that Hastur had left behind. Michael started to squirm away, but Ligur’s hands clamped onto her hips and he slid forward, fucking Hastur’s come right back into her.

“No,” she said. It came out quieter than she intended.

“You can keep saying that.” Ligur’s wide, sure thumb slid through the dark curls on her mound and rubbed a circle around her clit. “We know what you mean.”

“No,” she said again, louder.

Michael’s _no_ was a fearsome, implacable thing. When Michael said no, angels fell. When Michael said no, the whole world was obliged to listen.

Except for these two demons. They were simply ignoring her. It was a total mindfuck, almost as good as the physical fuck, which was itself incredible. For all that he was playing a role, Ligur didn’t hesitate to use everything he’d learned about Michael’s body over the years. He lifted her up to get just the right angle and rocked slowly in and out, dragging his thumb over her swollen clit, relentlessly building sensation. “Come on, let go,” he crooned. “I’m gonna fuck you one way or another. You might as well let it feel good.”

“No,” Michael choked out for the third time, but it was a helpless cry as Ligur drove her to orgasm, working her between his hand and his cock. Hot, sick pleasure swamped her body until she barely felt the cold stone at her back.

“That should soften you up,” said Ligur, satisfied. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, pumping harder and faster until he came with a silent shudder, doubling the filth inside her.

Then he slid out, tucked his cock away, and strolled over to share Hastur’s cigarette. Michael lay back on the tomb, sweating, shaking, aching—and nowhere near satisfied. Her mind was half-shattered, still trying to work, trying to find the words to tell them that she needed more.

But they already knew. Hastur stepped forward and dragged her off the stone, kicking the back of one leg to send her to her knees in the dirt.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Who’s going to stop us?” snorted Hastur. “The other angels? Don’t be stupid. You’re the one who saves them. You’re the one they all pray to. You don’t have anyone to save you. All you’ve got is us, see? And we’ll take _such_ good care of you.”

While was talking, Hastur shredded the cloth binding her arms. Roughly he rubbed the circulation back into them, then pushed her down onto hands and knees. “Think I’ll try your other hole now,” he commented, and she felt one of his sharp-nailed fingers working around her rim.

She tried to crawl away from the violation and found Ligur kneeling in front of her, blocking the way. Hastur swiped his fingers lower, plowing them through the come that dripped from her cunt and coated the inside of her thighs, and then brought them back to her hole, pushing and stretching.

“Stop,” she gasped. “You won’t—you won’t get away with this.”

“We will,” said Ligur. “We are.” He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to look up at him. “Haven’t we been over this? Humans won’t save you, because we’ll hurt them. Angels won’t save you, because they know you’re the one who does the saving. Who’s left?” He paused, and Michael felt dizzy. Would he say it? Did he dare?

Ligur threw back his head and shouted at the sky. “Oi, listen up! We’ve got your precious archangel Michael here, and we’re ruining her! Gonna fuck her every hole, fill her right up, make her come on our cocks and beg for more.”

The graveyard was utterly silent, except for Michael’s shocked, heaving breaths. Then Hastur barked with laughter. “See? No lightning strikes.” He pulled his fingers out of Michael’s arse and replaced them with the head of his cock. “Your boss is letting us do this to you, because the Almighty knows you need to be broken.”

Michael let out an anguished sob, her whole body trembling at the vicious claim of Hastur’s words and the painful press of his cock. They’d finally overwhelmed her. There wasn’t anything she could say or do, not a single decision she could make.

“Michael.” Ligur still held her chin. The deep red of his eyes burned into hers, but his voice was suddenly gentle. “Color?”

She licked her lips. So she had to make one decision. At least it wasn’t a hard one. “Green,” she whispered.

Ligur’s gaze flicked up over her back, and he gave a small nod. At once Hastur began to push deeper into her, slow but ruthless. Michael heard a raw, tortured moan and hardly recognized it as her own.

“Is he hurting you, wankwings?” Ligur had turned harsh again. Michael managed to move her head slightly up and down.

With his free hand, Ligur pulled out his cock. “Here's a distraction for you.” He squeezed her jaw until she opened wide enough for him to guide it inside. The weight settled on her tongue, sliding back toward her throat. Then he wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her head forward, fucking her mouth while Hastur fucked her arse.

Michael lost herself in the sensation of being split open and filled at the same time, with no space left to think or plan. It hardly mattered if it felt good or bad; it felt _enough_. Then Hastur reached down and pushed two fingers into her cunt, curving them wickedly as he rocked his hips, and pleasure spiked through Michael’s nerves.

“You want it, don’t you?” Hastur growled. “And we’ll always give you what you want.”

When Michael’s orgasm hit, it shook her to pieces. She couldn’t cry out, she could barely move. Her mind was wholly, blessedly empty. More tears fell down her cheeks as the rush of heat drained away, and she realized dimly that both demons had already come inside her, that she had swallowed some of Ligur’s spend and the rest was spilling down her chin as he eased out.

“Come on, soldier,” he said softly. “Up you get now.”

Michael’s body felt impossibly well-used, her legs too shaky to stand. She didn’t know what to say, and realized she didn’t have to say anything.

They brought her back to the flat. She drifted for a while, leaning on Ligur in the shower as he rinsed the graveyard grime from her hands and knees, tended to the places that were sore and swollen. When she was dry, he wrapped her in a fluffy white bathrobe, and she looked up into bright green eyes. She kissed his mouth.

Then Hastur made her drink two cups of herbal tea and eat a full plate of fruit. He frowned and fussed and tried to pour even more tea, so Michael took his hands and kissed each pale damp finger.

They didn’t talk about it until they were all in bed. Ligur nearly always slept in the middle, because he wanted the heat and because his shoulders made the best pillows, but this time the demons put Michael between them.

“Thank you, my herpetological horrors,” she said, petting the two precious heads, one covered with white-blond straw and the other with tight black curls. “You did marvelously. I know that was a very difficult thing that I asked for.”

“Bloody impossible,” grumbled Hastur. “Loads easier to let you run the show.”

“I’m happy to.” Michael smiled. “I doubt I’ll want that again, not for a long time, at least.”

“Maybe once a decade,” allowed Hastur, but Ligur murmured into her skin, “Whenever you need it, soldier.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so grateful to the IB discord for loving this ship along with me, suggesting the perfect pet names (Euny_Sloane offered _sticky fingers_ and _ma grenouille_ and _herpetological horrors_ and seekwill came up with _soldier_ ), advising on matters of breakfast and tea, and just generally being awesome. <3
> 
> say hi on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/melibemusca) if you like and please know that I am still blushing about having written this filth


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